Read Online Her Wicked Proposal: The League of Rogues, Book 3 by Lauren Smith - Free Book Online Page B

trouble was he had affected her, very deeply. Some dark part of her wanted his mouth back on her fingers, and other places. She blushed, never more thankful he couldn’t see her shame.
    “Are you pleased to be dining with Emily tonight?” Cedric asked, as though he hadn’t just made her speechless a minute before with that very mouth of his.
    It also did not fail to stir her jealousy that he and Emily were so close. Despite their bond of friendship, it still hurt to think Emily knew Cedric better than she did. Though Anne had never encouraged his attentions before the accident, a part of her had hoped he would not give up. That he wanted her enough to continue to fight for her.
    And Anne secretly wondered whether all of the men who’d abducted Emily had fallen in love with her to some degree. Their devotion to her was unshakeable, and rakes never devoted themselves to anyone without reason.
    Cedric misinterpreted her silence. “You are not pleased then?”
    “I’m sorry. I was woolgathering. Of course I am happy to see Emily. I am just worried that she won’t approve of my casting aside my mourning clothes for her dinner tonight.” It was a lie. She wasn’t worried about that at all, but he could never know her true reasons. Silly nonsense, to be jealous of her dear friend.
    Cedric sat up straighter, as though her admission caught his attention. “You’re not wearing black?”
    “No. Somehow I felt it would make my father sad. He never approved of wearing mourning clothes for very long. He knows, wherever he is, that I…”
    For a moment she could not speak; her throat constricted and her eyes burned. I will not cry. I will not cry. I am not weak . She repeated the mantra that had kept her from showing any strong emotion since her father died.
    “That you miss him,” Cedric finished for her.
    “Yes.” Anne wondered at the fact that he completed her sentence. Did he understand her so well? Or was she merely so transparent that even a blind man could see the depth of her grief?
    “So, if you are not wearing black, what are you wearing, my dear?” Cedric grinned wickedly, but the affect put her strangely at ease, dispelling the tension of her heavy sadness.
    “It is a simple satin gown, russet brown with a bit of an autumnal orange hue to it under the right light.”
    Cedric reached out, his hand settling on her thigh as he explored the feel of the satin beneath his fingers.
    “I am glad you aren’t wearing that awful black crepe anymore. I despised the way it felt when I touched you. A woman’s clothes should create pleasure when sliding against one’s skin. It should entice her lover’s touch.”
    Anne was bewitched by the spell his hand wove over her thigh, the slow exploring caress. So light that it did not disturb the satin, yet she still felt the heat of his skin sink through her gown, creating a heady anticipation deep in her womb.
    His touch reminded her of her father’s stable master, Harvey, as he worked with wild unbroken geldings. Harvey always gentled the wildest of the young horses with his soft whispers and feather-light touch.
    Suspicion suddenly flooded Anne. Was Cedric planning to lull her into thinking she was safe and then pounce? Surely that was his plan. Just as she steeled herself to demand he cease touching her, he stopped of his own accord and set his hand back on his lap as though nothing had happened.
    “I do not think Emily will mind you casting off your mourning blacks. Emily is a most understanding little creature. Sometimes I think she understands too much .” This last sentence was delivered in such a disgruntled mutter that Anne couldn’t help but wonder what he meant, not that she would dare ask.
    “I hope you are right,” she murmured instead.
    “You’ll soon find out that I am often right. Do not be shocked by it.” His tone was imperious, but she sensed the faintest hint of teasing behind it.
    “I can’t help it if I am shocked, my lord. Your arrogance is